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Introduction

Blanka was written in December 1818; this and Vom Mitleiden Mariä are the earliest Schubert settings of Friedrich von Schlegel. Both poems appear in the Poetisches Taschenbuch for 1806. This must have been Schubert's source as Blanka is printed under this title (which was not retained in the complete Gedichte), and Vom Mitleiden Mariä appears nowhere else (the authenticity of Schlegel as its author has been questioned). Blanka (under the title of Das Mädchen) was reprinted in the Gedichte (1809) as the last of nine 'Ansichten' or 'Views', a subdivision of a larger poetic cycle of thirty-one poems entitled Stimmen der Liebe ('Voices of Love'). Although the poem does not come from Abendröte, it bears a considerable resemblance to Das Mädchen earlier on this disc. Both songs are poised between what might be termed major- and minor-key feelings - the 'Lachen und Weinen' dichotomy which Schubert loves so much. The alternation between A major and A minor in Das Mädchen, and between A minor and A major in Blanka, is the purest of Schubert, and one which he reserves for situations which touch him greatly. Both girls also confess an inability to voice their feelings. Blanka's diffidence is reflected by an alternation of long phrases ('Wenn mich einsam Lüfte fächeln') with short ones ('Muss ich lächeln'). This is a metrical feature of the first eight lines of Schlegel's poem which somehow reinforces the idea of the girl's vulnerability, as sentences seem to trail away unfinished. Schubert aids and abets this impression most beautifully with sighing figurations in the accompaniment of two quavers gently phrased away which suggest the wilting of roses on the stem. This is a masterful musical evocation of evanescence. The pauses between the phrases (with little echoing phrases in the piano) evoke the hard concentration needed to play a game of 'He loves me; he loves me not'. The poem's last four lines allow the girl's feeling to blossom as if she is no longer afraid, and has suddenly found her voice; mention of music in the middle section of Das Mädchen from Abendröte achieves a similar effect. The triplet accompaniment in compound time with a slower legato vocal line above it is related to the celebrated Lied der Mignon, another song about a young girl who is apprehensive of what fate has to offer her, and who also sings in A minor.

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When, in my solitude, breezes fan me,
I must smile,
as, like a child, I playfully
fondle the rose.
If it were not for this new suffering,
I should jest.
If I could say what I feel,
I should complain,
and ask with anxious hope
what my fate offers me.
Even if I jest, and dally with roses,
still I must complain as I smile.

Einstein avers that Schlegel's poem is an 'empty poetic trifle', but it serves its purpose well enough as a gentle cousin to Lachen und Weinen. The poet's original title is Das Mädchen, and in a way one can see that Schubert would respond less well to this anonymity than to an actual name (and a mysterious one at that) — the basis for a character. Joining the large gallery of the composer's female creations, little Blanka (Einstein sees this as a mistake for Bianka) has a melancholy mood all of her own. She is given the tenderest of treatment in Schubert 's most loving A minor versus A major manner. She is supported by a cello-like line in the piano's left hand with subtle little sighs from the viola in the right. She is on the threshold of life's romantic experiences, and it can surely be no accident that the music of another 'character' on this disc, in the same position and in the same tonality — Delphine — should have similarities in the matter of extended, arched phrases of longing mixed with the short sighs of excited inexperience. Both songs are about flowers that will wither on the stem if they are not plucked and enjoyed. Delphine is, of course, a much grander creation, but in her own way Blanka also feels a throb of expectation, the virgin's trepidation on walking into the gardens of delight.

When, in my solitude, breezes fan me,
I must smile,
as, like a child, I playfully
fondle the rose.
If it were not for this new suffering,
I should jest.
If I could say what I feel,
I should complain,
and ask with anxious hope
what my fate offers me.
Even if I jest, and dally with roses,
still I must complain as I smile.